


Pieces of our Time

by Slovenskych



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Battle on Ice, Breakups, Drabbles, Historical Hetalia, Hungarian Revolution of 1956, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Novgorod - Freeform, Sochi Olympics, Soviet Union, Stilyagi, Tumblr Prompts, ancient russia ocs, buckle up for my headcanons y'all, mostly characters just having conversations, nation weddings, some ship ideas I have
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28619052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slovenskych/pseuds/Slovenskych
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles and oneshots. I have so many detailed headcanons that often I feel too overwhelmed to make them into multichapter fics, but I've found that writing them as single scenes is a lot easier. A big thanks to everyone who sent me prompts!I will write a brief introduction to each drabble with some background for my headcanons regarding that time/setting/characters. As always, history notes can be found at the bottom. Hope you all enjoy!
Relationships: America/Lithuania, America/Vietnam, Estonia/Finland, Estonia/Lithuania, Prussia/Belarus, Prussia/Hungary
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Moscow: 1958

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Late 50's, at an underground jazz bar in Moscow.

"Okay," Gilbert said, swirling his beer in the lights. "Tell me something I'd never believe."

Raivis leaned forward on the bar, fist curled under his chin. For a moment the jazz music swelled around him, and Gilbert allowed his gaze to shift to the bodies moving to the music. At last the boy's voice pulled his attention from the hypnotic scene:

"Eduard is in love with Toris."

It was a good thing the dancers were far away, because Gilbert spewed his beer at least two meters across the room. He broke into coughs, raising the back of his wrist to wipe the alcohol from his chin as his back lurched and he sucked in gargled breaths.

He was sure Raivis would have helped him… except the boy was too busy laughing so hard, he nearly fell off the bar stool. At last he managed to hold out a napkin with a trembling hand, "Sorry!"

Gilbert glared and snatched it up, but not before flashing a wink at a young Russian girl as he tried to dab the beer dripping from his face while still looking Awesome, thank you very much. She just laughed,

"Oh no, Raivis, what did you do? Your brother is a mess!"

"Just told a joke." Raivis flashed a grin which was much too innocent and adorable for an underground jazz bar. "Want to hear the rest?"

Gilbert watched as that smile melted these Russian girls more easily than a thousand Awesome winks ever could. Sometimes he wondered if he would get half the attention he did without Raivis by his side. _Damn Latvian. Always using his young appearance to his advantage._

"Maybe next time!" she laughed, and leaned in with long, painted nails to leave a perfectly lip-shaped mark on Raivis's cheek.

"I'm playing next week, too!" the boy shouted after them, and Gilbert heard the group of girls giggle about 'cute' and 'the German is so lucky!'

"You monster," Gilbert growled, now having finally dried his face. Without asking, he grabbed Raivis's cheeks and the boy screwed his eyes shut as he smeared off the lipstick with the wet napkin. "Taking all my women."

"Says the guy who's got a girlfriend. You'd better be glad I don't tell Hungary _half_ the shit you tell me – "

"Or that I tell Eddy you've been spouting his secrets! So what the hell is this about him being in love with Lithuania? I don't believe that for a goddamn second."

A stubborn spot of lipstick refused to come off, and Raivis pushed Gilbert's hand away when he started rubbing too hard. He wiped a hand down his face, checking his palm to see if he got the evidence off.

"Oh, Eduard wouldn't be mad. He doesn't even know it himself."

"HA! So it IS a lie!"

Raivis flagged down the bartender and asked for another beer. "Sure thing, Galante!" he answered with a grin.

Everyone in this place knew Raivis by name, and they didn't charge him a kopek for alcohol. The boy's trumpet playing was payment enough, drawing crowds of hundreds each night. To say he was popular was an understatement. It had gotten so bad, Raivis had to wear a scarf over his face when traveling with Russia so Muscovite girls wouldn't come up to him squealing and asking for his autograph. Gilbert would spot some goggle-eyed fans from across the street, then point very _deliberately_ in the direction of Russia's hulking figure. Hopefully if they knew the sob story, they'd take the hint and let Raivis be.

Orphaned by the war, became best friends in the orphanage, adopted by a hard-line Politburo member who beat them at home. Or so the story went, and the girls _gushed_ over Gilbert and Raivis in solidarity.

"Oh, you poor boys! You know you could come live with our family if you wanted!"

"But Gilbert, you're in the army, aren't you? Can't you two move out?"

"How could anyone hurt such an adorable face? I just don't understand it, it's horrible!"

"At least you have each other!"

Gilbert snorted to himself; if Lithuania could see the masses fawning over Raivis and his East German "brother" he would probably have a seizure. The Lithuanian _did_ come to the bar on occasion (and let's be honest, he was better at these American dances than anyone) but Gilbert always made a point to schedule a no-show on those nights. He'd rather not be shot daggers while trying to enchant the ladies.

The bartender arrived with Raivis's beer, and Gilbert reminded himself yet again the boy was well over a thousand years old as he lifted it to his lips like a pro. _I wonder if there's some kind of machine that could stretch him out a few centimeters…_

"Quit looking at me like I'm a science experiment. You should be used to it by now."

Gilbert scoffed and took a swig of his own beer. "We were talking about your brothers, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Well that's it, basically. Eduard is in love with Toris, and he has no idea."

Gilbert scrunched his nose, "That doesn't make any sense."

"For Eduard it does. He has a weird way of loving people."

"And by weird you mean science-ing them to death with all his talk of aerodynamics and rocket trajectories?"

What started as a laugh turned into a loud snort, and Raivis's beer sloshed in his hand.

"I'm going to kill Russia for letting that nerd attend University," Gilbert groaned, raking his hand through bangs still damp from dancing.

"Eduard loves his jo-ob," Raivis sang, in a way that indicated jealousy. Sure, the trumpet gig was fun. But he only had time because he felt so _useless_ around the house, cleaning Russia's trinkets like he had since Day One. Would it kill his master to give him a little more responsibility?

"Okay, but for real, explain to me this… 'love' or whatever you're talking about."

The boy closed his hands around the beer pint, eyes wandering to the ceiling as his legs swung on the bar stool. "It's like… Eduard doesn't do _romantic_ love. For him it's more like, there are a few people he cares a lot about. And Toris is just one of those people."

"Hold up a second – aren't _I_ one of those people?"

Raivis plucked a napkin from the bar and started folding it into origami. "Yup."

"So now you're saying Eddy is in love with _me?"_

Raivis looked about to answer, then he paused a moment and narrowed his eyes at Gilbert as if appraising an artifact. "Mmmm…. I don't think so."

Gilbert wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset at that answer. He'd rather not think about it. "Okay, so what's the difference?"

"I think… if you were standing in the middle of the road and a car was hurdling in your direction at two-hundred kilometers per hour, Eduard wouldn't throw himself in front of you. But if it were Toris? He'd do it without a second thought."

Gilbert frowned as his reflection in the beer, the foam clinging to the edges of the glass pint. "That's a weirdly specific criteria."

Raivis shrugged, returning to the napkin which was slowly taking the shape of a swan. "Well that's how I see it, anyway. With me it's different because Eduard and I really are brothers; I can barely remember a time without him. But in the 1860's I had to twist his arm to get him to even _talk_ to Toris. For awhile it felt like I was setting up dates."

Gilbert narrowly avoided spewing more beer. "Pfft, like what?"

"Well I'd say something like, hey, you should invite Lithuania to the printing press with you! And Eduard would be like no, that's stupid. And I said, okay, then why don't you go shopping in the downtown market! No, again. And after maybe like ten suggestions he'd finally give in and the two of them would go do something way better than my tenth suggestion." Raivis set a perfectly-folded swan on the bar and shifted backwards in his seat to admire it. "I didn't want to go with them, because Toris and I would just end up talking the whole time. I wanted Eduard to get to know him the way I did – to learn that he wasn't the 'evil Duchy' we'd made him out to be."

Gilbert scoffed. "It amazes me how you three started out hating each other."

"I wouldn't say we _hated_ each other… more like, we just didn't know any better."

It seemed Raivis was so happy with his first swan that he started making a second one. The image was endearing – the famous trumpet player in the most popular underground jazz venue in Moscow, intently focused on folding the bar napkins into paper birds.

"Well so after awhile, Eduard stopped complaining about me 'forcing' him to hang out with Toris. And before I knew it, he and Toris would be off doing something without me having to say anything. And then one day, Eduard came back talking about it: 'Did you know Lithuania told me…!' and then he'd name some battle tactic, or diplomatic move, or any random fact Toris had taught him. And his face would light up, and Eduard _never_ gets that look, unless he's talking about Finland or Ukraine." Raivis held up the second swan, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. "The second I saw that look on his face, I knew."

"But… by then, you had already agreed to be brothers."

"Right, which is why I knew it would never work out. Eduard was experiencing positive feelings towards Toris, but it was all through the lens of being brothers. So, that's how he interpreted it. He's never wanted anything more, because being Toris's brother is about the closest he could possibly get." Raivis set the second swan facing the first, so their draping necks formed a heart. He swiveled in his bar stool, leaning back against the counter. "In the end, I think that's all that matters to Eduard. He worries about Toris, a _lot,_ even more than I do. It tears him up to watch Toris make bad choices, and that's why they fight so much. I don't think Eduard even cares if he's _with_ Toris – he just wants Toris to be happy."

Raivis turned to send Gilbert a knowing smile, and for once the wisdom of his age showed through those rosy cheeks and sparkling violet eyes. "And if that's not love, I don't know what is."

Gilbert's face flushed at the sentence the boy had teased him with before he started dating Liz. "Yeah, yeah, madame match-maker, thou knowest _all,"_ he drawled in Old German, and to his delight Raivis understood the reference and started laughing.

"Hey, you asked me to tell you something you'd never believe!"

"And that you did."

The two clinked their glasses in a toast.

Gilbert really did love these nights. Multicolored lights swirling across the dance floor, beautiful people in all colors and shapes of dresses, lively music that would make any true Communist's ears rot off. Sharing a beer with a nation he readily considered to be his little brother, talking freely in German while they laughed at dumb jokes. If Gilbert closed his eyes and let the sounds and smells overwhelm him, just for one second, he was back in Berlin. He knew by now it was an imaginary Berlin that only existed in human memory – before the war, before the depression, before _everything_ that had led to him sitting here wearing this ridiculous suit in an underground jazz bar in the capital of the Soviet Union.

Gilbert was snapped from his thoughts by a cloud of perfume that hit him so hard, he nearly broke into coughs. He opened his eyes to see a group of sweaty girls crowding around the bar, gushing in rapid-fire Russian for Raivis to please please PLEASE play just ONE more song? For _me?_

And then Raivis, in a fantastic display of suave sophistication (Gilbert taught him that. The kid certainly didn't get any Awesome points from _Eddy,_ that was for sure) modestly accepted, saying "Okay, I guess I can, for _you,"_ and threw a wink in Gilbert's direction, which the girls were too busy squealing in delight to notice.

"Come on, before they start the next song!" they cried, and had barely taken hold of Raivis's hand before the boy had vanished into the crowd of dancers. As Gilbert watched a head of honey-gold hair disappear into the swirl of color, a shout in German called back,

"Don't you DARE touch my beer!"

Gilbert laughed. He slammed his pint on the table and swept the two origami swans from the bar, then began to invent Russia's next greatest pick-up line involving a bird pun, as he set out to find himself a dance partner.

* * *

HISTORY NOTES

The Stilyagi movement was a subculture that emerged in Soviet Russia in the late 50's and early 60's. This was largely due to an emerging generation pushing back against the strict uniform policies of Stalinism, and were importing pieces of American culture through clothes and smuggled music. Soviet propaganda tried to repress this by explaining how Stilyagis would become lazy delinquents, and were a hindrance to Communist society. There was an entire black market of jazz bars and performances, crazy-colored suits, and smuggled music which was recorded on circular x-ray printouts called "rock on bones" 

It's my headcanon that Raivis got looped into an underground record-smuggling company and met a jazz band who taught him how to play the trumpet. It was basically a side job for him until Ivan realized it was getting out of control and hired him to be his personal assistant abroad.


	2. Vilnius: 2021

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my headcanon, Liet and Alfred had been in a pretty serious relationship since the early 90's. They dated for about 25 years, until an abrupt breakup in 2016. Then to everyone's surprise, Liet started dating Estonia in 2019 and they got married in 2021. This dabble takes place at the wedding reception venue in Vilnius.

"Now you know how it feels."

Alfred blinked and tore his eyes from the dance floor to see Ivan sitting across the table from him. The Russian held out a pint of beer and Alfred took it.

"What, you come over here to pity me?"

"I came over here because you're sitting alone watching the grooms couple dance."

"Fair," Alfred muttered, taking a swig. The two watched in silence as Taylor Swift's "Lover" echoed in the dance venue, white lights swirling across the nations.

_Can I go, where you go?_

_Can we always, be this close? Forever and ever…_

Alfred turned around to face Ivan, suddenly thankful for the company. "You know, all that stuff I did for him – not drinking, keeping alcohol out of the house, not wearing scarves… I thought it was because you had been abusing him when he left."

A wide smile spread across Ivan's face. "Of course you did. He never told you otherwise."

"He never told me _anything_ about you."

"You wouldn't be the first." Ivan set his elbows on the table and his gaze stared behind Alfred, watching the dance floor.

"Apparently, he just didn't want to think about you because you got into a big fight and he was too scared to just _talk_ to you about it." Alfred scoffed.

"Love scares him."

"What?"

"It _terrifies_ him," Ivan muttered into his glass.

"Tell that to the guy getting married."

Ivan shook his head, "Estonia doesn't love him. Not like you do. Not like I did, or Poland did."

Alfred frowned, curious to hear more.

"Tell me, why did you fall in love with Litva? It was because he's a good listener, da? He probably asked you questions no other nation had dared asked before, about your past, your family, the source of your motivations. You poured out your _heart_ to him, you let yourself be vulnerable with him in a way you had never done with any nation before. Because you were largely isolated from a world of nations who never took the time or effort to understand you."

Alfred's eyes widened at the accuracy.

"And so you fell for him. Hard. Harder than you've fallen for anyone else. You could easily spend the rest of your life with him, and you assumed because he was so good to you, he felt the same. But he didn't, did he? And did he _tell_ you that?"

"No," Alfred whispered, too soft for Ivan to hear, but it didn't matter because Ivan knew the answer.

"And when you told him you wanted to marry him, what was his reaction?"

"He got… _so_ angry." Alfred tangled his hands through his hair. He didn't want to recount that day. It had felt like he was living in a nightmare.

"He lashed out. Probably saying something about sovereignty and power imbalance, da? Something about him being his own nation."

Alfred felt sick. How did Ivan know this?

"And yet there he is, getting married," Ivan nodded towards the dance floor. "So, we ask, what is the difference? Because Estonia certainly never did half of what you did for Toris."

After a beat of silence Ivan answered his own question, "Because Estonia is weak. _Mild._ He sits on the sidelines for two centuries until it's convenient to date Litva. He doesn't take a risk. And that complacency is safer than committing to us powerful nations who actually _go get_ what we want." Ivan let out a harsh laugh. "Litva says he's 'committing' when in fact he's marrying the most noncommittal nation on the continent. And everyone is buying it."

"Why is it that every time I talk to you I'm finding myself on your side?"

Ivan just smiled.

Alfred tried putting his thoughts together enough to form an argument. God, he was tired.

"I don't think a person is something to 'go get.' Toris has told me about your fights now, you literally didn't want him to be independent. And I don't think that's love." Alfred met Ivan in the eyes and said, "The difference between you and me is that I let Toris leave when he wanted to. Maybe that first experience with you is what made him so scared to communicate that in the first place."

Ivan didn't answer, the white ovals on the floor crossing his face and shining off the silver strands of his hair. He was wearing that irritating half-smile he used when he didn't have an argument but still wanted to make it look like he was winning.

Alfred let out a long sigh. "Look, I don't want to argue about this. He's married, he's happy, I don't care who with. You should be happy, too."

This time Ivan laughed out loud. "That man has strung me along for _centuries_ , Amerika, I'm glad to have him out of my hair." He lifted a pint in the air. "To _real_ love. May the new couple never know it."

Alfred just shook his head. "You're fucked up, man."

* * *

When Alfred saw Toris sitting alone on a bench outside, something possessed him to sit next to him. Crickets chirped around them, and a soft summer breeze played through the grass.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Alfred didn't know what to say. 'Congratulations' would be the obvious choice, but Toris didn't need to hear that from him. He felt he was sitting next to the person who knew him better than anyone else in the world, and at the same time, he felt he was sitting next to a complete stranger.

"Hey, um… I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"How… how do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"I dunno, ah… move on. From… from being in a relationship with someone for so long."

Toris sighed.

"I mean… do you hate them at first? Or… try not to talk to them? Do you try to forget about everything that happened?"

"No, Alfred."

"Do – do you see them all as 'mistakes' and you wish you had never made yourself vulnerable enough to be with them in the first place?"

Toris leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees. "At first… maybe, yeah. Because the reason you leave someone is because they hurt you, right? So of course you replay all the things that they did wrong in your head. But… later, when things clear, you realize some of the mistakes were yours. You both made mistakes. And… then something will remind you of that person, but it won't just be the negative things, it'll be the positive things. Small triggers, throughout your day. And you remember there were good memories, too. And then… gradually, the reminders go away and…"

"And you forget about them."

"Well, no. Because they're still around."

"But you forget about the relationship."

"I think… you stop idolizing the relationship. It stops being your priority; it stops controlling your memories and your emotions. It happens so slowly, one day you'll wake up and realize, you haven't thought about that person for a long time. And that's when you realize, you've moved on. Not because you hate them, but because you're okay now."

 _"Are_ you okay now?"

"I'm married, Alfred."

"That's not an answer," Alfred snapped, in a darker tone than he intended. "No, that's not... I'm sorry, I didn't mean – "

"No, you're right. I'm good at avoiding answers." Toris leaned back on the bench. "I'm really sorry that I hurt you."

Alfred waited for something to change. It didn't. "I wanted to hear you say that for _so long_ , and… I don't feel any different."

"I thought I wanted to hear Ivan apologize, as if that would fix everything. As if _him_ apologizing would help _me_ climb out the pit I'd been digging myself for years."

"Toris – "

"But it didn't. Ivan _finally_ realized what he had done was wrong, he actually meant it when he said he was sorry, and you know how I felt? Like absolute shit. Because I had been waiting for that moment, in my rage, thinking it would right over a century of wrong he put me through. But at the end of the day? Healing is our own responsibility. Because the only one who can actually see the wounds, is you."

"I saw your Instagram post."

"Yeah?"

"That's… really amazing. The scars, it's… I honestly didn't think that was possible."

"Neither did I, for a long time."

"I think I understand now. What you were saying, about the scars being there because of you, not anybody else. Because _you_ needed them to be there." Alfred let out a long sigh. "It's fucked up, but I get it. I look in the mirror and I think to myself, 'I don't deserve for that to go away. I let slavery happen. I let thousands of innocent people be hanged for no reason. I knew it was wrong, I _still_ know it's wrong, and I just let it fucking happen.' And yeah, it's ugly and it hurts. But… it feels like it would be wrong for it _not_ to be there, you know?"

"Your scars could heal too, Alfred."

"No, I don't think – "

"Alfred. You have a long life ahead of you. A lot can change."

They sat in silence for a moment, crickets chirping and the engines of cars fading into the night as nations started to leave the reception.

"Are you… happy now?"

Toris looked over at Alfred, startled. Then his gaze fell back to the grass, and the hint of a smile rested on his lips. "Yes, I think I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hc that Alfred has a nasty scar across his chest in the shape of the North/South divide in the Civil War. Even after slaves were set free, it's estimated that over 8,000 people were lynched, or hanged without trial, from 1850 until 1950. Racist systems still remain in place in the United States today.


	3. Moscow: 1960, Tallinn: 2019

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are two drabbles which explore some of Estonia's relationships as an asexual person. The first one takes place at a bar in Moscow during the Soviet Union. The second one takes place in 2019 at Eduard's apartment in Tallinn, shortly after he and Lithuania started dating. At the time, Eduard had been in a polyamorous relationship with Finland since the 90's.
> 
> I usually don't post shipping drabbles like this, but as an asexual person, I wanted to give some representation. Enjoy!

**Moscow, 1960**

Gilbert leaned over the table, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Look I know you don't like talking about your love life, but…"

"Great, this again."

"Come _on!_ You're an attractive guy, you're a good… what, a thousand years old? You're smart, you're – "

"Okay, calm down."

"Seriously, Eddy. You can't expect me to believe you haven't had a few catches."

Eduard huffed. "Catches? Is that how you see them?"

"Strikes. Good times. Whatever the hell you want to call it – "

"Fine, _alright,_ if it'll get you to shut up about it –"

"And DON'T make any shit up."

"Why would I do that?"

"I dunno. It's all that Resistance, makes you shifty."

Eduard rolled his eyes and considered just leaving the bar. But for some reason Gilbert was fixated on this and he knew he wouldn't leave him alone until he got an answer. God, how to even go about explaining this?

Gilbert must have seen the troubled look on his face. "Tell me about the first person you fell in love with."

"Like… ever, or…?"

"Okay, the first nation you fell in love with."

Well, that was easy. "Katya."

Gilbert leaned over the table. "When."

 _When?_ "I… couldn't say. Maybe… since the first time I saw her? She was so strong back then, maybe it was a mixture of awe and fear. I had never seen a woman in a high ranking position like that. I… liked that about her. She was so sure of herself. And…"

"Hot."

 _"Beautiful,"_ Eduard corrected. "I'd ask that you please not butt in on this."

"I don't get the difference," Gilbert smirked.

Eduard frowned, "There's a difference." Gilbert rolled his eyes, and Eduard tried to explain further, "I don't… like it when people talk about other people being hot or sexy because… I don't really understand it."

"What's there not to understand?" Gilbert seemed to be less amused and more interested, realizing Eduard was sharing something more personal.

"I… don't know. Because that's just it, there's something _not_ to understand, so how could I describe the absence of something?"

"You've lost me there, bud."

Eduard sighed. This was not the first time he'd been met with confusion when trying to explain his feelings. Tino seemed to understand, but…

"Okay, so you fell in love with her because she was 'beautiful.' Then what?"

"Well… obviously it was a long time before I could ever speak to her on… well, not even equal terms back then, since she was one of the four big names in the Commonwealth and I was just a Duchy under Sweden. But… I liked her, I knew she was out of my league, but for some reason she liked me too. So we… started seeing each other. At least, as much as we could, back then."

Gilbert whistled. "What did you do to win her over?"

"I just… I guess I was just myself? Maybe she… thought it was cute, or something. The little peasant boy offering her flowers and poetry." Eduard smiled bitterly. "Not much has changed, has it?"

"Hey. You were independent for 20 years."

Eduard took a swig, "Don't remind me."

"So, did you have sex?"

Eduard choked and nearly spewed out his beer.

Gilbert shook his head, "Why is it always like this with you?"

"Sorry," Eduard mumbled, wiping a sleeve across his mouth. "Yes, if it's that important to you, we had sex."

"HA, nice!"

"But I think… that's when I realized that I was… different, somehow. I mean, _she_ definitely liked it. Maybe that's even why she kept coming back. But I found myself kind of… just doing it because it was expected, because that's what couples do. It wasn't ever because I wanted to, aside from making her happy. I would find so much more value in conversation, or just spending time with her. But she seemed less interested in that part. And eventually… I just decided that it wasn't love."

Gilbert lifted his pint to his lips. "Ffff, that's rough."

"So, we broke it off. I think I was just a fun diversion for her to begin with. I was devastated but… I figured, the heartbreak could have been worse, if we had been more involved."

"But you still like her, yeah?"

Eduard couldn't fight down a smile. "Yeah."

"She's different now, though."

"Oh, definitely. But for the time being her attentions are all on _him."_

 _"Him_ being Canada."

Eduard took a gulp of beer. "Yup."

Gilbert scoffed. "I don't get what's so appealing about the guy, anyway. What, 'cause his brother and old man practically run the world? It's not like _he_ ever did anything cool."

"Well, he is his own country. Which is a bit of a leg up."

"Still answers to the queen so… technically, no."

Eduard gave a weak smile, "Thanks for trying, Gilbert."

They drank for a moment in silence.

"So… is there anyone else?"

Now Eduard felt himself blush.

Gilbert's eyes lit up. "There _is_ someone else! Holy shit, Eddy, who?"

God, this was so embarrassing. "Do we _have_ to talk about this?"

"Hm, let me think about it, um, YES. Who, for fuck's sake!?"

Eduard lowered his voice to a whisper, "Okay, but you can't tell anyone."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

"I'm dead serious, Gilbert. I keep your WWII secrets, you keep this one, understood?"

The comparison seemed to help Gilbert register the importance of the secrecy. "Upon Martin Luther's grave, I swear it."

Eduard took a deep breath. "So… you know that Sweden and Finland are married."

Gilbert's eyes grew wide.

"But… Tino… he's not… well it's not…" There must be steam coming off his face, he was so mortified.

"Holy fucking shit, Eddy, have you banged the Swede's _husband!?"_ Gilbert hissed, as if the sentence itself was blasphemy even for him.

Eduard covered his face in his hands. "Tino was the one who wanted to –"

"Does he _like_ you!?"

"He… I mean I think he likes it, I mean me, I mean the sex –"

"Do _you_ like him!?"

Eduard pressed his forehead to the table and mumbled a helpless, "Yes…"

For once there was no response, and at last Eduard summed up the courage to look up to see Gilbert's jaw hanging open.

"But – aren't you two related, or something!?"

"Aren't you related to Austria?"

Now it was Gilbert's turn to blush. "That's not the same –"

"I think it is. We're… distant. Not by heirs, or anything. So…" Eduard didn't know what to say anymore.

"Wait, does Sweden know?"

"They weren't married back then, and Tino said not to worry about it. Maybe they've worked out something… I … god, I don't want to think about it."

"Dude, how long has this been going on?"

"Just while I was independent. Tino helped me a lot, you know with his soldiers, and… since I lived in Tallinn, it was easy to visit."

"Had that been building for awhile?"

"Since Petersburg. I mean, _I_ liked him when he was part of the Empire, I was a mess around him. I just never could have imagined he felt the same way… or maybe he didn't, until I was stronger."

"So do you like having sex with him?"

Eduard couldn't believe they were talking about this. "I… yes? I think so. I feel more with him than I did Katya, but… I think that has less to do with my attraction as just… we have an emotional connection. Tino is more than just a crush, he's my best friend. And so I guess… I like making him happy."

"I've never heard anyone talk about sex like that before."

Eduard hung his head. "I know. That's why I don't like talking about it."

"But hey, you told me. So uh… thanks for sharing your weird secrets." Gilbert shook his head. "You and _Finland._ Christ, the world really is ending."

* * *

**Tallinn, 2019**

The sheets were tangled and the room smelled like sex. Eduard's chest rose and fell as he felt his heartbeat slow, the ceiling of his room coming into slow focus.

"Mm, that was fun."

The words were spoken in the crisp, bouncing syllables of Finnish – close to his own language, with a few differences. Just hearing them in that high breathy tone made Eduard's head spin.

The mattress shifted, bare skin rubbed against his own and a kiss was placed on his shoulder. Tino's head fell in the cook of Eduard's neck as a hand smoothed across Eduard's chest. Eduard closed his eyes and felt himself melt. He could care less about the sex; this was the best part.

"Viro."

Eduard smiled at the unique name. "Mm?"

"Have you told him?"

"Hm?"

"You're not listening to me."

Eduard opened his eyes and turned his head. They were so close, all he could see were eyes the color of turquoise and tangled strands of blond hair.

"I'm listening."

"Okay. Then have you told Lithuania or not?"

Eduard turned his head back to the ceiling as the bliss of earlier seemed to dissipate.

"I thought so…" Tino's hands dropped to pull at Eduard's waist, and the Fin was flush against him as he whispered in his ear, "When are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what? There's nothing to tell."

"Hm." Tino raked back the hair from Eduard's neck and left kisses trailing down towards his back. "I disagree."

"We're not exclusive…" Eduard muttered. He found it ironic that _Tino_ thought he should tell Toris, as the one who was married to another man.

"No. But I know you don't let him do these things to you."

Eduard stiffened.

"Viro," Tino sighed. A hand reached over and encouraged Eduard to tilt his head to face him. Tino's eyes cut into him like ice as he said gently, "I know you're using me as a crutch."

Eduard's breath caught in his throat. "I-I'm not – "

"You trust me. You don't trust him. So you feel better about yourself not trusting him by coming to me."

_What…?_

"Having sex with me doesn't justify leaving Lithuania out to dry, Eduard."

Eduard's face flushed red, and he pushed away Tino's hand and sat up in bed to glare at the sheets. "That's not – " He raked a hand through sweaty bangs. "It's complicated."

"As this always is, with you," Tino sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_ you're… different. And that's okay. But you can't keep doing this, Eduard – to yourself, or Lithuania. You need to move on."

Eduard looked back, startled.

Tino just smirked, cheeks still flushed from earlier. "What, you never thought dating Lithuania would mean we might have to end things?"

"I – I guess I assumed that since you're married…"

"That's because Berwald is okay with it. And normally I would say to ask if Lithuania would be okay with it, too, but this is more than that. You need to learn how to trust him, and I feel like I'm getting in the way."

"I… trust him…" Eduard's voice cracked as he said it, and he heard how unconvincing it sounded.

Tino let out a long sigh and sat up to fold his arms around Eduard's shoulders. "I'm not saying I don't want to be with you anymore, or that I don't love you." Eduard felt Tino's smile against his ear. "If it were up to me, I'd have both of you."

Eduard's face grew red. _"Tino – !"_

Tino just laughed – a beautiful, lighthearted sound – and pressed a firm kiss into Eduard's cheek. "You're too easy, love."

Eduard reached up and hooked his arms around his partners'. "I… don't want to lose you."

"Viro. You could _never_ lose me."

Eduard turned around, and he saw the serious honesty in those turquoise eyes. And before he could stop himself, he was kissing Tino, hard. Warm hands came to cup his waist and soon he had the Fin backed up to the headboard, straddling his lap and trailing kisses down his neck.

When he pulled away, Tino brushed Eduard's bangs out of his eyes, and there was nothing in his expression but pure adoration.

"Promise me we won't do this again."

A sudden heat built behind Eduard's eyes. "No…"

"Eduard."

Eduard pressed his forehead against Tino's and breathed in the scent of winter and sea salt. They both took a deep breath together, and a cold heaviness settled in his chest.

"Okay," Eduard whispered, and salty tracks dripped down his face to splotch onto the sheets.


	4. Sochi: 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: The Sochi Olympics in 2014. The song playing in the bar is [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMvm22m6tmY&ab_channel=Nyusha-Topic); I recommend playing it in the background.

Yao's chest drummed with the vibration of Russian pop music, the lyrics screaming among the swirling lights as he made his way to the bar.

_Не оправдана твоя ко мне жестокость.  
Довольно не скромно,  
И за пару дней мне стало одиноко.  
Невольно, я скованна._

The flat-screen TV's above the bar blared white from the camera sweeping over the ice rink. Yao snorted to himself – curling. Of course Ivan was taking a break; nobody cared about that sport.

The Russian wasn't hard to find; his hulking form seemed to dwarf everyone else in the bar. Yao slipped onto a stool and waved down the bartender. "Moscow Mule," he said in Russian.

"Your accent is terrible," Ivan mumbled next to him.

"And a vodka for the critic."

The bartender nodded. Yao glanced over to see a line of empty glasses sitting in front of Ivan. The TV light glowed through droplets of sweat glistening on tangled bangs.

"You're drunk."

"Mm." Ivan downed another shot.

"It's not a good look," Yao warned, leaning back on the bar to scan the club. It seemed absent of any onlooking nations… for now.

"This is my country, I can 'look' however the fuck I want."

"Moscow Mule, and a vodka," the bartender said, pushing a glass and a copper mug onto the shimmering wood. Yao pushed the glass to Ivan and they clinked in a toast.

"To victory," Yao smiled.

Ivan's lips flashed into a knowing grin, and he downed the shot. He glanced to the TV to take note of the score.

"I'm going to win."

Yao sighed. "Yes, you've told me many times."

"No, Yao. I'm going to _win."_

Yao said nothing, continuing to sip from the mug as his eyes scanned the club once more. The reason behind Ivan's confidence was something he dare not utter in public. _The secrets this man trusts me with… I could have all his precious gold medals stripped away if I so wished._

They sat in silence, the lyrics drumming through the building, and testing out his Russian Yao attempted to actually understand them:

_You are not my enemy  
I ask, take a step towards me  
Stupid, but not funny  
I see nothing matters to you._

Yao glanced over and was surprised to see Ivan mouthing the chorus,

_Don't say we're too late  
You feel the spark between us  
We wanted and searched so much  
Bliss crashed like a tsunami_

Ivan threw back another shot, eyes unfocused.

Yao leaned sideways, his ponytail sliding over the silk jacket he wore. "Ivan. Is this about Lithuania?"

Ivan's hand tightened around the glass, and for a moment Yao feared he would shatter it.

"Or," he ventured, leaning close to whisper in the Russian's ear, "…is it about America?"

Ivan cursed under his breath. "That Capitalist thinks he can tote Litva around like some kind of Cold War prize. He's acting even more like an obsessive guard dog than usual… keeps glancing at me like I'm going to snatch Litva away at any second."

Yao smiled wryly. "I don't blame him. You know the Ukrainian team won't participate? Your sister is going to leave tomorrow."

"Sounds like someone else's problem."

"You haven't talked to her?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

_You are not my enemy  
I ask, take a step towards me  
Stupid, but not funny  
I see nothing matters to you._

Sitting there in the darkness with violet and lime green swirling lights, Yao found the lyrics ironic. The opposite was true for Ivan – he seemed to have honed the creation of enemies as if it were a craft.

"The world will see you very differently after this year," he muttered softly. "You know there will be no coming back from that."

_Don't say we're too late  
You feel the spark between us  
We wanted and searched so much  
Bliss crashed like a tsunami_

Ivan turned to face Yao, and in the blue glow of the bar his face lit up with a devilish grin.

"I know. That's what makes it _fun."_

* * *

HISTORY NOTES

Russia was confirmed to have used doping for many of their athletes in Sochi by inventing a special lid which could go opened and undetected. A hole was cut into the wall at the testing center, and urine tests were replaced so that the athletes could pass the drug tests. Although Russia did win the Sochi Olympics, Russian athletes were banned from all major sporting events for four years.

During the Sochi Olympics, protests exploded in Ukraine against a corrupt government that many felt were paying lip service to the Kremlin. Russian "green men" or unmarked soldiers appeared in Eastern regions to rally separatists. The Ukrainian Olympic team wanted to wear black armbands as a protest and sign of solidarity with their countrymen, but the Olympic committee banned it, as the Olympics were to remain unpolitical. In response, some of the Ukrainian Olympic team left early.


	6. Berlin: 1918

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble takes place in 1918 during WWI. I've started a fanfiction, [To Hear You Laugh](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10196485/1/To-Hear-You-Laugh), where Gilbert and Natalia met when the Germans invaded Belarus. They ended up falling in love, and so this would be a few months later, when Natalia is living in Berlin. Gilbert has come back from the front to spend some time with her.
> 
> Gil and Nat will talk about two of my ancient Russia OCs, Novgorod (Volodya) and Volhynia (Irina). The Battle on Ice which was featured in a Hetalia episode was actually fought between The Livonian Order and The Novgorod Republic.

The bathroom smelled like roses.

The tub was gold and velvet curtains hung from the window which looked out over the sparkling lights of Berlin. If Natalia didn't know any better, for this one moment it was easy to forget there was a war on.

…or it would have been, had Gilbert's chest not been lacerated with cuts and bruises. He wore a bandage which covered his right eye, and with his wet spiky hair and small pupil in a sea of pale red, he looked like a wounded alley cat.

Gilbert cupped pale hands and lifted a rose petal from the bathwater, drips of suds running down his forearms. "Okay, question for you."

Natalia reached over and lifted a crystal wine glass from the tile countertops. Their time together was always short in the midst of this war; there seemed to be an ever-present pull between the need to be physically intimate and to actually get to know each other. One moment Gilbert was ravishing her against a wall, the next he was asking about her favorite dessert or her past. He acted almost clumsy in the way he seemed to be attempting to drink in her entire being in these few short months. Nobody had ever taken such fascination with her, and as a single red eye rose to meet hers, a shiver shot down Natalia's spine. These questions were trivial, but they meant so much more to her than mere conversation.

"If you could spend one day with anyone you've known who has died – nation, or human – who would it be?"

Natalia cocked an eyebrow. She had a feeling where this question was coming from; Gilbert had been close to Frederick the Great. A lot can be learned about a nation by who they miss.

She wasn't sure if she was ready to answer this question. They hadn't gone that far back in her past yet; she hadn't spoken to anyone about this in centuries. Natalia lowered the wine glass and stared at her reflection in the deep red contents.

Finally she said, "My twin sister." The words sounded strange on her lips – the title of someone who hadn't played that role in what felt like lifetimes.

She glanced up to see that Gilbert looked mildly surprised. Slow recollection came across his face. "That's right. There were a lot of you back then… I didn't realize you had a twin."

Natalia's throat suddenly felt dry.

"What was her name?"

Natalia closed her eyes. "Irina."

The bathroom fell silent. She couldn't bring herself to say anything more.

"Huh. Don't think I ever met her." Gilbert took his own wine glass from the countertop and took a loud gulp. "The only one I really knew was the oldest. We fought a lot back in the day… guy could have squished me like a bug. He was huge."

"Volodya?"

"I never knew his human name. The Republic of Novgorod…" a distant smirk crossed Gilbert's face. "Pain in my ass."

It somehow startled Natalia that someone would know her brother, outside of her own family. She so often forgot that many of the nations still alive today were old enough to interact with her late siblings. Some days, it felt like they were nothing more than a dream. Hearing Gilbert talk about it somehow brought her brother back to life.

"What was he like, to you?" she asked, hoping it wasn't a strange question. She had always known Volodya as her brother, not an enemy. She had always wondered what other nations thought of him.

"Not like any other nation I had met. He could have let me drown when I fell through the ice, and instead he dove in and pulled me out. Demanded I come into his tent, gave me a blanket and hot water… we had just lost a _war._ Everyone thought he was insane, including his own men. But they respected him; I remember that. It felt like… no matter how absurd his orders were, they would die for him in an instant."

A smile flickered across Natalia's face. "That's Volodya." She set her wine on the counter and leaned back on the bathtub. "Our brother always did enjoy giving lectures; I imagine he had a lot to say after you lost the war."

Gilbert swirled his wine glass with a wry smile. "Pretty ironic, now that I think about it. There I was, a scrawny hot-headed kid, furious this old oaf had just beaten me and humiliated me by saving my life. 'What kind of an idiot nation does that?' That's what I thought of him, but at the same time… I felt like he had figured something out. Some kind of balance to being a nation that I was never taught.

"So I told him, 'You must be really stupid.' And he smiled at me – a genuine smile, even though he had just killed half my men – and said, 'I'm not the one who just lost the war.' He told me, I had to find something else – something to live for, besides war and winning. Some _one_ to live for. And he said, that person, for him, was Vladimir-Suzdal."

"Vanya…"

"Your dumb brother," Gilbert huffed. "He went on an on about how he cared for his brother more than himself; how that made him a better nation. It gave him purpose and drive, but also compassion and understanding. He said a nation should be both warrior and counselor. Well of course I thought that was a load of bullshit. I threw down the blanket, yelled that his 'compassion' for his younger brother was going to get him killed, that I would never be so stupid as to give my life for some brat who shared my blood. Then I left."

Gilbert cupped his hand around another rose petal, the water slowly leaking from his palms. "Funny how history works, yeah? That bastard died just like I said he would, and now I'm the idiot giving my life away to Ludwig. Which begs the question…." Gilbert lowered the petal into the water. "Either he was right, and sacrificing yourself for a younger sibling is the greatest thing a nation can do with their life. Or, both of us are suicidal failures."

Gilbert glanced up suddenly, as if just now remembering Natalia was there. "Oh uh… sorry. Guess I got carried away there."

"You've never talked about dying before," she said quietly. Somehow it scared her, hearing him talk so frankly about his own death. Wasn't this the same nation who always raved about World Domination? How could one be on the brink of ruling the entire European continent and have death on the fringes of their mind?

"No…" Gilbert agreed, and the sadness in his voice was the most vulnerable she had ever heard him. He flashed a toothy cat grin. "But don't worry, Princess. I'm not dying anytime soon. Besides, if I do, that'll be my problem, not yours."

She sat up on her knees, and the water sloshed as she moved across the tub to sit in front of him. Natalia reached up with a hand, rivulets of warm water dripping down as she smoothed her fingers down the valleys of his chest. Gilbert closed his eyes and let out a breath. Natalia cupped a hand on the side of his face and forced him to look her in the eye.

"I disagree."

A single red eye widened, then darted across her face. She could see the adoration in his expression, then with the slosh of bath water he leaned up to capture her lips in a kiss.

* * *

HISTORY NOTES

The city Novgorod was founded in 882; even before Kyiv, so Novgorod was older than Katya. After the Kievan Rus fell apart, it became the Novgorod Republic. Novgorod was able to avoid a violent Mongol invasion, so Volodya would have been in a very different political situation than Ivan at the time, much more worried with fending off the Germans in the Northern Crusades. The Battle on Ice took place on April 5, 1242, and Novgorod's victory stopped the Northern Crusaders from advancing any further East. Alexander Nevsky who commanded the Novgorod troops was canonized as a saint by the Orthodox church and remains a hero in Russian history today, although whether or not the ice actually broke is still debated.


	7. Budapest: 1956

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble takes place in 1956 in Budapest, right after the Hungarian Revolution was quelled. At this point in time, Natalia is a high ranking official in the KGB and Gilbert is being trained to work for the Stasi (East Germany's secret police force). Gilbert still lives in Moscow at the mansion since the Berlin Wall hasn't been built yet and Ivan is keeping him away from Ludwig. You can read about Gilbert's involvement in WWII in my long fic, Diamond in the Rough, and Natalia's experience in WWII in the sequel, Око за Око.

Natalia knew it all too well; the stench of war.

The scent of crumbled buildings and dust, the toxic fumes of tires and metal burning on the streets that hung in the sky in clouds of blackened ash. For a moment, she felt she was walking through the streets of Minsk, glass crunching under her boots as she clung to Ivan's arm and tears streamed down her face as she mourned what was left of her capital city.

But this time, it was not hers.

The fumes of gasoline and dust morphed into the stench of iron and antiseptic as she neared the commotion that was the hospital. Soviet guards stood by the entrance, and snapped into a salute upon seeing Natalia.

"Comrade Arlovskaya," they said in unison.

"Comrades," she greeted with a salute, then in a stern tone, "Where is she."

"We can escort you – "

Natalia flashed a bitter smile. "I think it would be best if I not arrive to Comrade Hédeváry's room with an entourage."

The guards exchanged a worried glance. "But Comrade – there could still be rebels – "

"Are you suggesting I can't defend myself?"

"Never, Comrade!"

"Then tell me which room she is in."

Hospitals were always chaos in times like these. Civilians crowded the lobby, gunshot wounds and missing limbs sloppily bandaged as loved ones begged for doctors. But the hospital was full, and nurses ran with clipboards and stretchers, barking orders in rapid-fire Hungarian. Even now the panic began to crawl into Natalia's bones as memories of wartime returned; she swallowed and forced herself to focus on the present as she strode down the halls.

_They're not my people. This isn't my burden to bear._

She could easily imagine what Hungary was feeling. This was more than being shot in the chest; this was political and social turmoil. To a nation, it felt like being ripped in half. It was the fever, not the gun shots, most likely, that was keeping Hungary hospitalized.

The Soviet soldier stationed at her room didn't seem to recognize Natalia; he blocked her path as she neared. "This room is under restriction," he said, in Russian of course, expecting any Hungarian woman her age to speak it fluently.

Natalia had come here in civilian attire, in case any rebellious-minded Hungarians had it in mind to assassinate her on the streets. She slipped a wallet from her back pocket and flashed an ID card. "Natalia Ivanovna, KGB. I have clearance."

"Comrade Arlovskaya," the soldier said, snapping into a salute and immediately stepping away from the door.

The first thing she noticed in the room was the mechanical hiss of a ventilator. The next were the flowers.

The room was full of them – bouquets of red and white flowers that filtered the evening sun in a patchwork of color. Hungary lay face-up on the hospital bed, pale and glistening with sweat, her fingers twitching as the machine by her bed allowed her to breathe.

"Nat?"

Natalia turned around to meet the startled gaze of Gilbert. He looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks – bags under his eyes, hair and shirt grimy with sweat. On the seat next to him, Feliks's cheek was pressed against a wall as he slept. A bandage and gauze were wrapped around his forearm, and he looked pale as death.

"What happened to him?" she whispered, not wanting to wake the Pole.

"He's been giving blood," Gilbert said grimly. "Doctors keep trying to tell him to give it a break, but the bastard won't listen. I'm supposed to wake him up in an hour so they can draw another bag."

"Gilbert… how long have you been here?"

"I've lost track. Days." Gilbert wiped a hand across his face, and his voice cracked as he said, "Just waiting for her to wake up…"

Natalia glanced back to Hungary. Even looking at her, she could feel the pain.

"I – I don't know why, I thought the flowers would help… so stupid…"

"It's not stupid," she said quietly. Nobody had brought flowers for her during the war.

Gilbert's voice became dark, a low snarl: "Your brother _shot_ her."

Natalia closed her eyes. She and Ivan had agreed to separate their personal relationship from politics. It was none of her business how he chose to quell uprisings.

"Gilbert… why don't you come with me?"

"What, back to Moscow? As if I'd ever – "

"To a hotel. I can get you fresh clothes and a good meal, and a bed. We can come back tomorrow; she'll still be here."

"Compliments of the KGB, right?"

Natalia said nothing. Gilbert knew who she worked for. Soon he would be in the same position himself, once he completed his training. She was already working with the Stasi to create a position for him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just… _hate_ all of this."

"Then step away from it, for just one night. You need to take care of yourself."

Gilbert looked up at her, and she hadn't seen such a defeated expression on his face in years. Finally he seemed to come to some sort of decision. "Hey, shithead." He lightly shook Feliks's shoulder.

Feliks shifted with a soft moan, light green eyes fluttering open. "Hmm…"

"I'll be out for the night. You're gonna have to keep an eye on the clock yourself."

"Co…?"

"And look out for Liz while I'm gone."

"I was here before you, dumbass…" Feliks muttered in Polish.

"What did he say?"

"I think she'll be in good hands," Natalia smiled.

"I uh… I need to say goodbye to her…" Gilbert fidgeted, in a way she had never seen him do before when talking about Hungary. "Can you wait outside?'

Natalia resisted the urge to pull out a cigarette in the hallway as she leaned against the hospital wall. She had suspected Gilbert had feelings for Hungary as far back as '45. But ever since his memory returned, he had been determined to win Natalia over. She had promised herself she would never fall for him again, but this had proven to be much easier said than done. They had been seeing each other for three years, Natalia all the while keeping a close eye on Gilbert's relationship with Hungary. So far, they had seemed nothing more than friends… but she had always known, deep down, this wouldn't last.

Maybe seeing Hungary near-dead on a hospital bed was making Gilbert start to realize his true feelings for her. When Natalia had told the Chairman she needed to be in Budapest, she had done so under the guise of intelligence work. But in reality, her first priority was to check on Gilbert.

_I need to know how he really feels. But maybe it's too soon…_

The hospital door opened, and she glanced over to see his gaunt face. Natalia saluted to the guard, and the two of them left the hospital for the hotel.

They walked in a grim silence, past Soviet tanks and soldiers stationed on corners, past the shouts and bangs on doors, the stampede of boots as KGB agents stormed apartment buildings or chased down civilians on the street. Gunshots echoed across the city – the revolution may be over, but the aftermath was just beginning. Natalia herself knew she may be overseeing many of these executions.

Two soldiers saluted at the entrance to her hotel. They never questioned why Gilbert was with her.

While Gilbert took a shower, the phone rang. By the time he came out, Natalia was buried in a conversation with the Chairman about her role in the next coming months. Most of her work would be concentrated in Hungary; doing damage control, giving power back to the Communist government.

"Yes," she said, eyeing Gilbert as he emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. She nodded in the direction of a fresh uniform she had brought from the mansion, folded on the bed. "Yes, Comrade, I understand. I'll need the files delivered tomorrow morning."

Gilbert let the towel drop, pulling on a pair of boxers, not caring that she was watching.

"Yes. Of course. I have to go now, Comrade. Vsio."

"I feel like a traitor."

Natalia set the phone on the stand with a loud _click._ "And why is that?"

"My best friend got shot and now probably feels like she's dying because of you, your brother, and the whole crew of bastards you work for. And here I am, cashing out on favors from you, just because you have protection from the government."

"Is that the only reason?" she asked skeptically.

Gilbert's head emerged from the undershirt he just pulled on, his hair wet and spiky. He sat down on the mattress next to her, and leaned over to place a short kiss on her lips.

"Nein," he whispered. He smelled of lavender soap, and she tasted droplets of sweat from his hot shower. But the look on his face… she had never seen him this worried, unless he was talking about his brother.

Natalia stood and crossed the room to a round wooden table. She unscrewed a bottle of whiskey, pouring out a glass for herself and Gilbert. She returned to the bed.

"I thought you were going to give me real food," Gilbert smirked.

"Alcohol first. I need you to talk to me."

"You know me too well," Gilbert muttered as he took a long swig from the glass. She didn't pry, rather, sipped from her own glass and waited. Gilbert's fingernails tapped the glass in high-pitched rings between his knees.

"It was something… Poland said to me, in the hospital room. Well… _said_ is a generous term. More like, he yelled at me." Gilbert's brows pressed together. "Nat… do you think… Liz is in love with me?"

Her breath stilled.

"Have I been this stupid? To not have seen it?"

In any other circumstance, Natalia would have laughed. Of course Feliks would be the one to finally break the ice.

"She thinks very highly of you," she said, lifting her glass to stare at the morphed reflections of the hotel room. "The 'White Knight' she watched turn from his evil ways and save thousands of her people from the jaws of the concentration camps… lucky for her the Hungarians were still around to be saved."

Gilbert threw back more whiskey. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"It just _seems_ plausible that she may have romantic feelings towards you, Gilbert."

He set his glass down on the side table. "So where does that leave us? I didn't think I felt the same way until…"

"Until she was in danger."

A fire lit in his eyes, his fingers baring into claws. "When I heard what happened – that they sent fucking _tanks_ into the streets… I feel like I need to kill somebody. And seeing her lying there… I don't know. Something's changed."

Natalia let out a long sigh. She had rehearsed this speech before. A part of her mourned she would have to give it now.

"Then you should be with her."

Gilbert sat up, startled. "What?"

"She loves you, Gilbert. And in these next few months, she's going to need you. The things my job requires me to do… it would be best if we broke things off."

Pale red eyes darted across her face in shock. "No," Gilbert whispered. "No, Natalia I _love_ you – "

Natalia reached into a briefcase leaned against the bed and pulled out a file. She flipped it open to a list of typed names and handed it to Gilbert.

"These are over 200 Hungarians I have been ordered to arrest and execute. I won't be pulling the trigger myself, but the men who do work for me. I'm sure Hungary has close relationships with many of these people; she has been working tirelessly with them to organize this uprising. And she may continue to be courteous with me; as you all are, but she will always know the part I play in this game. And you know it, too."

Gilbert's eyes darted across the paper, reading the names. If he had been in close contact with Hungary, he may recognize some of them. He may have met them. His breath trembled, fingers growing tight around the paper.

"I can try to save some of them, but it will be difficult." Natalia opened a cigarette case and lit one, leaning back on the bed as she blew out a long string of smoke. "We always knew this day was coming, Gilbert. No strings attached, remember?"

"That's such a lie," Gilbert looked over at her, and the remorse in his eyes was so genuine that she had to turn away. "That's always been a lie, and you know it."

"What I know, or what I feel won't change the reality of the situation." Dammit, why was her voice cracking? She had promised herself she wouldn't cry.

"Natalia."

Pale fingers reached over and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. She felt the burn in her eyes as she looked up at the man she had somehow fallen in love with again. Gilbert's thumb traced the side of her face, his breath brushing her eyelashes.

"Let me just have this one night."

The tears fell now, through the creases in his palm, and as Natalia fell back on the bed she heard the soft hiss of Gilbert putting out the cigarette in the empty cup of whiskey.

* * *

HISTORY NOTES

The Hungarian Revolution was an attempt to overthrow the Communist government in Hungary. The Hungarians cut the hammer and star symbol out of their flags and toppled Communist statues, and had control of Budapest by early November. On November 4th, a large Soviet force invaded Budapest and other regions of the country. The Hungarian resistance continued until November 10th. Over 2,500 Hungarians and 700 Soviet troops were killed in the conflict, and 200,000 Hungarians fled as refugees. Mass arrests and executions continued for months afterwards. By January 1957, the new Soviet-installed government had suppressed all public opposition.

Poland was immediately supportive of Hungary during the Revolution. By November 12th, over 11,000 blood donors had registered throughout Poland. Polish Red Cross statistics show that by air transport alone, 44 tons of medication, blood, and other medical supplies were delivered to Hungary.


	8. Seoul: 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's breakup with Toris in 2016 was pretty traumatic for him. So in order to get away from everything (including the election), he spent a few months at Yong Soo's house in Seoul.
> 
> It's my headcanon that Alfred and Vietnam admired each other at the start of the Vietnam War, but things quickly turned ugly as Linh felt he had betrayed her and was killing her people. They ended on very bad terms, and Alfred has been too ashamed to ever go back to face what he did or apologize. (You can read my fic about the Vietnam War on my joint account: [Live and Let Live](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10757306/1/Live-and-Let-Live).)
> 
> This breakup with Toris is going to give Alfred a second chance to face his past with Linh. They eventually start dating, but this is how I headcanon that they meet for the first time since the Vietnam War.

Yong Soo's apartment was nothing you would expect from a nation representative.

It was an average-sized apartment in an average part of town with an average view of a maze of other average apartment buildings. It was, in fact, extraordinarily small by American standards, let alone what Alfred was used to with his New York Penthouse and the mansion he owned in LA.

The kitchen wasn't big enough to comfortably fit two people, and the small dining table couldn't fit more than two settings. There was a sliding door that led to a patio, which, Alfred discovered, had an extraordinary view of the sunrise over the Seoul skyline. There was something more authentic about seeing a city from how the citizens saw it – not from floor-to-ceiling glass windows, but beyond a rusty iron railing.

The front door opened into the entertainment room, with a full gaming system and flatscreen TV that covered the entire wall. Shelves were built to contain Yong Soo's extensive film collection – some pulled out of the wall or rotated for extra storage space. A curtain could be drawn between the dining room and the entertainment room to block out the light. The couch was a futon, which Alfred had been using as a bed for the past month.

Yong Soo's room was the opposite end of the kitchen, and the entertainment center connected the two. This was a good thing, since Yong Soo woke up extra early for work and Alfred would be happy to sleep the day away if the Korean didn't come barging through, making a ruckus in the kitchen and barking at Alfred to "Get up before this shit gets cold, you're gonna be late for work!"

Alfred's Korean was still very sub-par, so the only job he could manage to get was to wash dishes at a local noodle restaurant down the street. But the little of the language he knew was enough to make anyone swoon, and with the appearance of who everyone thought was an American movie star, the noodle shop was booming more than ever. School girls would chase him down on the way to work and ask if they could take pictures with him, giggling and saying things in rapid-fire Korean that he barely understood. But Alfred didn't care; he loved the attention and (apparently) making these girls' day, and so he would happily oblige.

Yong Soo would come home exhausted from work, complaining about his politicians while he made dinner, Alfred would ask about the meaning of Korean words that he added to his wall of post-it notes next to the DVD collection, then they'd pop a huge tub of popcorn and share it while watching Korean dramas.

It was the happiest Alfred remembered being in a long time.

Or… it was, until he started thinking about Toris.

But somehow it was easier to forget about Toris here. He didn't have to face every reminder in every part of his life that Toris had left a hole in. Waking up in the same bed, passing the same restaurants, hearing the same music that he and Toris would sing to. Everything here was different and new, and harmful memories weren't lurking around every corner waiting to debilitate Alfred with another anxiety attack.

It still hurt. Just… not as much. And right now, that's all Alfred could ask for.

This morning was a Saturday, so Yong Soo didn't have to go to work. Alfred had insisted he be allowed to cook an American breakfast for once, and so he had summarily banned his host from the kitchen while the familiar sizzle of bacon filled the apartment and Alfred danced to blaring ACDC as he flipped pancakes.

"You're going to wake up the neighbors," Yong Soo drawled from the entertainment room.

"It's 10am on a Saturday! It's not my problem if they're sleeping through this beautiful morning."

"Why do you do that?"

Alfred expertly caught a pancake on beat with the music. "Do what?"

"Say 'am' or 'pm.' Don't be weird, just say the number."

"Ok, then, ten _in the morning_ – "

"That is objectively worse, Alfred! That's _four_ syllables!"

"Hey, you know what else is four syllables?"

"Oh my god."

_"HIIIIGHWAY TUH HELL! HIIIIGHWAY TUH HELL! I'M ON THE––"_

Yong Soo brushed aside the curtain, "You know if I wasn't filthy rich from government paychecks, I would have doubled your rent just for that."

Alfred pointed a threatening spatula at his friend. _"Hhh!_ You're not allowed in here, sir!"

"No, but I'm allowed to turn down the volume."

Alfred rolled his eyes as the blaring electric guitar chords subsided to a boring level of background music. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Yong Soo said, the curtain sliding back into place.

Alfred was tempted to turn up the music, but he wanted to hear who was visiting. He was starting to get to know Yong Soo's neighbors, and he wanted to see if he could recognize their voice.

 _"O-oh!"_ Yong Soo's voice seemed odd; like it had gone up an octave. Alfred lowered the volume; this could be interesting.

"Um… hey, Linh."

Alfred dropped the spatula.

Nervous laughter flitted through the curtain. "I uh… didn't expect to see you here!"

"I'm on my way to Beijing and I had a dumb layover in Seoul."

_It's her. Oh my god it's her._

Alfred turned off the stove and yanked the speaker plug from the wall. He tripped over a chair trying to force open the sliding door to the patio.

"Do you have someone over?"

"Whaaaatt? Noooooo!"

_Yong Soo you are literally the worst liar I have ever known! You idiot!_

"Yong Soo you are literally the worst liar I have ever known. Quit loitering and let me in."

"Whaaaat? Loitering, I'm not loiter–– _oww!"_

Alfred hopped out the patio and slammed the door shut. He looked around, in search of a fire escape or anything he could use to climb down this damn building… the patio door was glass; if she was in the kitchen she would see him! He found a patch of wall and scrambled behind it, chest heaving as his heart thundered in his ears.

_It's her. Jesus Christ, she is going to slit my throat and throw me off this building if she finds me here._

He could hear muffled voices through the glass:

"Are you cooking… bacon?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! I thought I would have an American breakfast!"

"But you hate American breakfasts."

Alfred bit back a gasp. _How dare you._

"Well, not anymore! I was missing Alfred so _doooon't look at that!"_

"Yong Soo there is nothing in this suitcase but Captain America t-shirts."

Alfred buried his head in his hands. _Why did I pack those t-shirts!? I should have been inconspicuous and packed plaid!_

Her voice grew low with suspicion, "He's here, isn't he."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

 _"Where_ is he."

"I-I don't know – "

"He was in the kitchen, wasn't he? Is this a door?"

The patio door slid open, rapid protests from Yong Soo escalating in the background. Alfred buried his head in his knees and prayed that his death would be a swift one.

"Alfred F. _Jones."_

The name was said with a Vietnamese accent – sharp and clear, spoken with a deep hatred that could only come from one nation.

"Ah hehe…" Alfred looked up to say something, but he didn't even get a word out before a pair of knuckles connected with his jaw, enough to send him sprawling back into the railing.

 _"Linh!"_ Yong Soo gasped.

A fist grabbed his collar, and Alfred's eyes remained squeezed shut as he clawed at her grip. "Nice to see you again, Vietnam…!"

"I should drop you off this patio, Jones."

"I… I was afraid you'd say that…"

"But that would be unfair, as your death would be quicker than burning alive, don't you agree? Even the poor souls at Hiroshima and Nagasaki had better outcomes than I did. You couldn't even spare me _that_ much." She rattled him against the railing, "You won't even _look_ at me!? You useless piece of shit, I'LL CARVE YOUR EYES OUT!"

"Uhm… guys… the pancakes are getting cold…"

_"What!?"_

Alfred cracked an eye open. He caught her in that moment – glancing behind her, a curtain of black hair falling over her shoulder. She smelled like the fancy kind of perfume you buy at an airport. She wore a lime green tank top with a stone necklace hanging on a leather string. Her ears were pierced with bright blue and purple stars.

"I said, uh… the pancakes are getting cold so… don't you want to come inside and eat?"

Linh whipped her head back to Alfred and he gasped. Her eyes were like two polished river stones. She blinked, as if she herself were caught off guard. But this only lasted a second before those delicate features twisted into a snarl. "Be glad you're only on the _fourth floor,"_ she hissed, then threw him against the railing and stood up, brushing the dust off her leggings.

"Fine, I'll eat your disgusting food. I'll probably have to go on a diet for months afterwards, though." Footsteps vibrated through the patio as she marched back into the dining room.

Alfred fell back against the railing with a sigh of relief. _"Thank you,"_ he mouthed to Yong Soo. The Korean offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet.

"You ready to have breakfast with her?" he asked.

"Nobody is _ever_ ready to have breakfast with her," Alfred laughed.

They both winced as a voice screeched from the kitchen: "What is this brown shit in these pancakes!?"

"It's chocolate chips, Linh," Yong Soo sighed.

"You put chocolate!? In your _breakfast!?"_

"Just let it go, Linh."

* * *

HISTORY NOTES

Many war crimes were committed during the Vietnam War, the most infamous being the My Lai Massacre. The U.S. also used Napalm to burn huge swaths of the landscape. Reportedly about 388,000 tons of U.S. napalm bombs were dropped on Vietnam between 1963 and 1973. The targets included troops, tanks, buildings, jungles, and even railroad tunnels.


	9. New York: 1921

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot takes place in 1921, during the Outsourcing strips where Liet is staying at America's house. This scene takes place the night where Alfred asks Lithuania to sleep in the bed with him because he's afraid of ghosts (in canon)
> 
> There are references here to the Polish-Lithuanian War. You can read my fic about that war and Toris's relationship with Feliks in WWII in my short fic, [Don't Let Me Die](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11874016/1/Don-t-Let-Me-Die). In my headcanon, Ivan actually treated Toris well when he first became part of the Russian Empire. You can read about this in my letter fic, [Venice of the North](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11457199/1/Venice-of-the-North-A-Love-Story). Enjoy!

Lithuania slept in the far wing of Alfred's house.

Alfred had offered a better room – there were plenty to spare – but for some reason Lithuania had said no, he'll take the far room.

This is why, when Lithuania flung aside the sheets to stagger into the bathroom, it was the first time Alfred had noticed. Had Lithuania been any closer to his bedroom, he would have heard the choking gasp and rapid crash as Lithuania nearly fell out of bed, the moans of agony that echoed from the bathroom, and the splatters of something wet and thick against the tub.

It all happened so fast, Alfred didn't have time to react. "What the hell," he gasped, throwing aside the sheets and running after Lithuania down the hall. "Lithuania, are you okay?"

"Yes," came the weak answer from the bathroom. It broke with a high-pitched whimper.

"Uh, _no,_ you're not," Alfred corrected. He was certain Lithuania was throwing up.

"This happens sometimes," Lithuania wheezed. "It'll go awa – _hgh!"_

Alfred wasn't going to stand for this. He opened the bathroom door and flicked on the lights.

He froze.

Lithuania knelt by the bathtub, clinging to the side as blood dripped from his mouth.

"Holy _shit,_ are you being invaded or something!?"

"I… I already was… _hhh…."_ Lithuania's stomach lurched and more red saliva dripped into the tub in dark red splotches. "V… Vilnius…"

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Just… _gh_ … water…"

Alfred ran into the kitchen. He didn't realize his hands were shaking until he grabbed a glass from the cabinet.

_He said this happens sometimes… so this has been going on for awhile? If it's Vilnius, maybe even before he got here? Is that why he wanted the far room? Why didn't he tell me before!?_

The kitchen was far enough that Alfred was breathless by the time he returned. "Here," he said, holding out the water. Lithuania took it with pale, shaking fingers, and drank it in loud gulps. When he set it down again, bright red droplets zigzagged down the glass.

"I… I think it's over…" Lithuania fell back onto the tile, his neck craned to look up at the ceiling. His brow shimmered with sweat, and he closed his eyes with the flickering of pain. Bloody lips curled up in a trembling smile. "Sorry you had to see that."

Alfred's heart was still thundering in his chest. He had never seen a nation act like this, outside of war.

Lithuania seemed to understand his shock. He reached up with shaking fingers to unbutton his nightshirt. Alfred's eyes widened when he saw the glistening scar tissue over his heart.

"Oh my god…"

"Feliks stabbed me." Lithuania smiled a chilling smile. Alfred felt like he was truly seeing the savagery of Eastern Europe for the first time. He remembered being shocked upon meeting Lithuania, thinking this timid, kind man couldn't possibly come from the origins he had read about. But now, Lithuania looked like a wounded wolf ready to lash out at anyone who dared get in his way.

"It still hasn't healed. Has your capital ever been occupied?"

Alfred blinked to try to pay attention to Lithuania's words. "Uh… yeah. Not for long, though. Hurt like hell." Somehow he felt it tactless to show Lithuania his own scar, as if his suffering from the War of 1812 could even compare with what was happening in Vilnius.

"It feels like there's a parasite growing inside of me. It always hurts. Some days I can ignore it. But my body rejects it, so I end up hacking blood all over your bathroom. I didn't want to tell you because there's no cure for it."

Alfred nodded.

"When I see Feliks again, I'm going to kill him." The words were said with the certainty of a skilled assassin. No remorse, no conflict. A simple fact.

This… _couldn't_ be the same Lithuania Alfred had come to know over the past month? The one who smiled, apologized for every English mistake, seemed to laugh so easily and freely, to hold none of the bitterness Alfred had felt from so many European nations in the past?

_Is all of that just a mask? Is he always pretending?_

"You're looking at me like I'm a stranger."

"I… I'm sorry…" Alfred didn't know how to put into words how he was feeling. As if he was betrayed somehow.

"America," Lithuania smiled, and with those green eyes and a glint of madness in them, Alfred could have sworn it was England talking. "We're nations. What would we be without our secrets?"

Alfred offered a hand and helped Lithuania up. "Come on," he grunted, feeling the sweat beneath Lithuania's night shirt as he leaned onto him for support. He barely weighed anything.

Lithuania washed his face, swirling water in his mouth and spitting it out until it was clear. He didn't protest as Alfred walked him back to the bedroom.

 _He must be in a lot of pain._ Alfred felt like such an idiot for not noticing before. Was Lithuania that good at hiding it, or was he just oblivious? Taking the warm smiles and laughs at face value – had almost two centuries of knowing European powers taught him nothing?

Lithuania muttered a quiet 'thanks' as Alfred helped him into bed. "I must not be good at protecting you from ghosts," he smiled weakly.

Alfred was starting to see a pattern. Lithuania smiled after he threw up. He smiled when he said he would kill Poland. He smiled when declaring himself weak. It was starting to remind Alfred of another Eastern nation he knew. _Lithuania lived with Russia for a long time, didn't he? He's never even mentioned it._

"You don't have to stay with me, if you don't want to," Lithuania said as he slipped his legs under the covers. "I'll be fine."

"Lithuania… what you said about secrets – I…" Alfred wasn't sure how to word this. "I… don't want our relationship to be like that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you to think of me as someone you have to hide anything from. I… I want to be there for you, even through the hard parts." He felt so stupid saying it. Alfred had never spoken to another nation this way.

Lithuania held him in a skeptical gaze. Alfred suddenly felt so young. Of course it was stupid. How could he ever understand what an ancient power had been through? "I know I'm young," he kept going. _What are you saying, you idiot, shut up!_ "I hate it when you Europeans point it out, and you haven't yet, which is… um." _Shut up, shut up! ".._.well anyway, I _know_ that I'm young; it's a fact. And maybe I don't understand suffering the way you do, and maybe I haven't seen the things you have seen. But I can try to understand them, if that… helps."

Now Lithuania looked utterly confused. "You understanding _my_ suffering would help… how?"

"I don't know. It would help me know you better. It would help me know how to be a better friend to you."

Lithuania blinked. "Friend?"

The word struck a chord. "Yes," Alfred said quickly. "I… I see you as a friend. And I want to help you, more than just giving you work or a place to stay."

"You're not my friend." The sentence felt like a slap to the face. There was a sharpness in Lithuania's voice that Alfred had never heard before.

"Lithua – "

"I don't even know you. I came here to work for you. You've been very kind to me, and I'm grateful for that. But we are two nations taking part in a deal our bosses set up with no more intention than economic gain."

"Well it may have _started_ that way, but – "

"You're a sweet boy, America, I can see that in you. You can do a lot of good in the world; maybe this world needs someone like you, who will do the right thing. But I can't – " Lithuania's voice broke suddenly. He scrubbed his face and muttered something in Lithuanian. "I can't do 'friends' anymore, America, I'm sorry."

"Is that because Poland was your friend?"

First shock, then anger. "You should go, America."

"Look – I understand that, I've been betrayed before, that's why I don't exactly have any friends at the moment, because I don't trust anyone, either! But you – you're different, I trust _you,_ and I've never felt that way, about anyone before!"

"America – "

"Do you trust me?"

"What a ridiculous question – "

"Do you _trust_ me?"

Lithuania looked up, and Alfred saw tears shimmering in the darkness. When Lithuania finally spoke, his voice was small and cracked: "Yes. But I don't know why." Alfred took a breath, but Lithuania cut him off, "Please go now."

Alfred stood up from the mattress. "You don't have to get up early tomorrow. Take the day off."

Lithuania said nothing. And as Alfred left the room and closed the door, he felt that maybe – just maybe – he had a chance to start chipping away at this wounded knight's masks.

* * *

_You are my only friend._

_We're going to be together forever, right Liet!?_

_I can't let you be independent._

_You're NOTHING without me!_

Toris bent over and clawed at his hair. As much as he hated it, hot tears dripped down his nose and onto the sheets.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, _no._ I can't risk it again. I'm not going through this shit again. America is my employer. Nothing more. He's a child, he knows _nothing,_ he – "

_Hey, Lithuania! Did you have a good trip? That's great!_

"No…"

Toris didn't even think he had cried this much since he won his independence. Why couldn't he stop crying?

He had never felt so alone. He wanted intimacy but he hated intimacy. He gave people the power to hurt him over and over again and each time they did. He _wanted_ to be friends with America, so much that his chest hurt, and it wasn't just the scar. Toris felt, at that moment, if he didn't have a friend, he was going to scream.

But if he dared… to even use that word, 'friend,' to even begin to think of America that way, was he just dooming himself to be abused again?

_Ivan was nice until he wasn't… Feliks was nice until he wasn't… how… how do I tell the difference!? What do I do!?_

And so, left without an answer, Toris clutched a pillow to his face and cried for the first time since the war.

* * *

HISTORY NOTES

After the end of WWI, the Polish and Lithuanian armies worked together to fight against advancing Soviet Forces. Poland didn't recognize Lithuania's independence and wanted to re-establish a union similar to that of the Commonwealth. They also refused to leave the Vilnius region, claiming that the majority of its inhabitants were Polish. In 1919 Poland attempted a coup of the Lithuanian government, but it failed. Tensions heightened when Lithuania signed a treaty with the Soviets, allowing for free troop movement within their borders to help the Soviets fight Poland. Poland accused the Lithuanian government of being a Soviet puppet, while Lithuania claimed they were only defending their borders. With pressure from the League of Nations, an armistice was signed on November 29, 1920. Poland retained control of Vilnius, which Lithuania refused to recognize. There were no diplomatic relations between Poland and Lithuania until 1938, when Poland demanded relations be reestablished to protect against Nazi invasion.

Since Lithuania had won independence from Russia but failed to completely gain all the territory back from Poland, I always thought Toris would be much more controlled by his emotional and physical scars from the Polish-Lithuanian war than any fear he still had of Ivan. So while he worked at America's house, Alfred had to deal with that aftermath.

The White House and other important buildings in Washington, D.C. were burned down by British soldiers during the War of 1812. The fire only lasted one night, and many were put out by a hurricane that blew rains into the region. British occupation of Washington lasted about 26 hours.


	10. London: 1960

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Raivis got caught for smuggling and playing illegal music in Moscow (or, more accurately, his antics made Natalia look bad and she got on Ivan's case for letting him get away with it) Ivan decided to "hire" Raivis as his personal assistant abroad. This oneshot covers Raivis's first trip with Ivan to a World Meeting. Enjoy.

This was to be Raivis’s first time outside of the Eastern Block since the war, and he was _not_ going to screw it up.

…and the last time, he had been a captive in the Nazi Estate in Berlin, so it hadn't exactly been a vacation.

But this was different. This was a world meeting, in which Raivis would get to meet nations from the West he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. And most importantly: Raivis had an important job.

“Passport.”

“Yes, I-I mean da!”

The airport employee narrowed her eyes as she took Raivis’s passport and checked his photo. He blushed, worrying that the language slip would cause suspicion. But with Russia standing behind him like a towering statue, rank displayed on his dress uniform, one glance behind Raivis was all the officer needed to know his documents were genuine.

“Next,” she said, sounding bored as she handed Raivis his passport.

Raivis took it, fumbling with his briefcase to slip it back into the pocket. _You idiot, you’re not in London yet! Watch the English!_

Thrilled by the opportunity to practice his English, Raivis had been reviewing vocabulary with Toris in the evenings. The irony was, he wasn’t even supposed to speak English at the meetings at all.

_“You are not to communicate with any of the other nations, is that clear?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Russia placed a small pin in front of Raivis on the desk. It was a red rectangle with a dark blue wavy stripe at the bottom, and a yellow hammer and sickle in the left corner._

_“Tell me, Latvia, what do you see there.”_

_“My flag, sir.”_

_“Exactly. Your flag._ Your _flag and_ my _flag are connected, da? Just as your flag is connected to Lithuania’s, Kazakhstan’s, Armenia’s… and so on.” Russia gestured to a picture frame on his desk of all of the Soviet republics posing for an official photo. “When you are walking through the halls of these meeting rooms – when you are passing those Western nations and their aides and their interns and when you see maids and janitors and bus boys filling that hotel to the brim – I want you to think about your flag._ What _you represent, the_ fourteen _other nations you represent in those hallways.”_

_Raivis swallowed._

_There was a dangerous glow in Russia’s eyes, but for once the anger was not directed at Raivis. “They will see that pin on your jacket and they will know who you are, Latvia. They will see you as a direct line of leverage and national secrets to use against me, Lithuania, Estonia, and every single one of your hardworking citizens. They will smile, they will feel sorry for you. They will offer you ‘a way out’ and extra snacks and maybe even some of their own intel. They will bend down to talk to you, they will think you are cute and vulnerable and that you can’t keep secrets and that you hate me and you hate this job. And they will most likely speak to you in English.” Russia’s eyes narrowed. “So, Latvia. What will you do in this situation?”_

_“Not say anything,” Raivis said._

_“Not a word. You are to be my eyes and ears. You are_ not _a spokesperson for the USSR, do I make myself perfectly clear?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“They will treat you like it. They will try to ask your opinion, they will coax and pry and maybe even force it out of you as much as international law will allow. You must understand the importance of your role, Latvia, the immense amount of trust I am placing on you to stay silent. Spies are everywhere; don’t ever assume your room isn’t bugged.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“And if you do let something slip – even so much as a word or a missing piece of paper – then not only will you instantly lose this job, you will lose your traveling privileges to Riga and it will be a Latvian who takes the fall for it.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“That means_ everyone _in contact with them – their family, friends, coworkers – gets arrested and interrogated by the KGB. I don’t make the rules; those are the simple facts of how this works.”_

_“I know, sir.”_

_Russia leaned back in his chair, and a coy smile flickered across his face. “Prove to the intelligence authorities that I’m right about you, Latvia. You smuggled music for over a year under the KGB’s radar. Now let’s see how you do on the world stage.”_

This first trip was nothing more than a test.

A test, Raivis told himself as he saluted the soldiers on the tarmac and took the first step onto the private plane that would fly him, Russia, and their entourage to London — to see if he was fit for the job. If he could be invisible, carry Russia’s notes and bring him coffee, and not break under the pressure of Western nations trying to glean info.

If Raivis could really do it – if he could prove that he was fit to be Russia’s international assistant – then he would have his passport checked and board private planes dozens of times. He would get to eat lunch in cafes in London, Brussels, and Paris. He would get to see the outside world, and for the first time since the war, he would get to feel like a nation again.

 _No more cleaning that stupid, ugly house,_ he huffed to himself as he took his seat by a small airplane window.

Raivis’s heart was beating so fast, he felt it would leap right out of his chest. He hadn’t been this excited about something since winning independence became possible.

“Are you nervous?”

There was amusement in Russia’s deep voice as he took the aisle seat next to Raivis. Raivis jumped in surprise.

“What, no, sir I-I’m not nervous!”

A wry smile. “You spoke English to that officer.”

“I-I’m sorry, it won’t happen again!”

Russia held him frozen in that violet gaze for a moment, then he huffed to himself at some unknown joke. “I’m sitting next to you on these flights so we can review the meeting notes before we arrive in enemy territory.”

Raivis straightened in his chair, his attention no longer out the window. “Right,” he said, all business.

“We’ll be discussing trade across the Arctic. These are my talking points.” Russia handed Raivis a thick ream of paper with paragraphs of typed text. “I want you to familiarize yourself with these before we arrive at the meeting. I know what I’m going to say; what I _don’t_ know is what the Western nations will say. I don’t want you getting distracted with our own stance on the issue.”

The seats rattled as the private plane began to taxi to the runway.

“Your job in that meeting room is going to be watching and listening. You’ll be taking notes on what all the other nations are saying. Once you get enough practice, you should be able to use shorthand and remember most of it word-for-word.”

Raivis’s head spun. This job was going to be harder than he thought.

Russia again sounded amused, “Is there a problem, Latvia?”

“What, no! I can… take notes, that’s no problem.”

“Good, because I’ll be giving you feedback on how to improve them. You have to know the difference between what’s important, and what’s not.” Russiaglanced to his right, then nodded in the direction of an officer across the plane aisle. His voice fell to a whisper, “Tell me what you notice about that man.”

The plane picked up speed, but Raivis had no time to enjoy the thrill of taking off in the midst of Russia’s questions. The roar of the plane engine was too loud for Russia to hear his answer, so instead Raivis observed the officer during takeoff. The officer’s face was carved by hardened lines, his expression unmoving and posture slouched as he flipped through notes on a clipboard.

When the engine noise died down and the plane leveled off, Raivis said, “He’s a Major General in the Red Army. He’s flown before.”

“Is he wearing a wedding ring?”

“No…”

“So you think he doesn’t have kids?”

Raivis blinked at Russia. “Why is that important?”

“Kids mean leverage. If you can find his family, you can get him to do almost anything. Check again for the wedding ring.”

Raivis tried to squint across the aisle without seeming too obvious. “There’s… a discoloration. His fingers are tan except for a band on his ring finger.”

“Lavrov divorced his wife last month. He hasn’t been focusing well because of troubles at home. His guard is down more than usual; it would be easier to slip a document out of his briefcase or hotel room without him noticing.”

Raivis’s breath grew still as his gaze slowly moved back to Russia.

“You told me his rank and that he’s used to airplanes. But if you learn how to notice the _important_ things, it can make all the difference. Now.” Violet eyes searched the airplane, and in that moment, Raivis felt that for the first time he was getting a front-row seat to how Russia thinks.

“Tell me about that flight attendant,” Russia said.

* * *

London was like nothing Raivis had ever seen.

People wearing clothes of all colors, shapes, and bizarre styles flowed through the streets in a buzzing river. Bright lipstick and dyed hair, short skirts and tattoos – it felt as if the undergroundjazz bars had been punctured and spilled like paint all across the city. Raivis thought he heard a familiar sound. The car neared a pedestrian street, and Raivis pressed both hands against the window and exclaimed,

“It’s a saxophone!”

The KGB agent at the wheel gave a disapproving cough. Raivis jolted back into his seat and folded his hands in his lap. Even so, he snuck a glance out the window as they passed a street performer with an open saxophone case on the curb, passerby’s tossing money into the case. The sultry tone of the saxophone floated through the air, the performer's eyes closed as she seemed lost in the music. 

“Did I mention that Galante here plays the trumpet?” Russia said to the agent, for some reason thinking the situation funny. He gave Raivis a knowing smile. “He’s quite good.”

Raivis’s face grew hot. Somehow his days of playing at underground jazz gigs felt silly now.

“Ah, there it is.” Russia nodded out the window. “Our hotel.”

Raivis craned his neck to see the huge glass building, its spire scraping the underside of London’s famous grey clouds. The windows reflected the sky in a strange effect that made the building seem invisible. It reminded him of the spaceships and futuristic technology he’d read about in science fiction novels.

The car pulled to a stop, and the agent and Russia stepped out. Raivis pushed his own door open, and he was barely out for a moment before rapid chatter in a foreign language drew his attention.

It was a high-pitched voice, expressive and pleading – Raivis’s eyes were drawn to a red-haired man imploring an almost identical dark-haired man with him as they both dragged suitcases up the hotel sidewalk.

Raivis stood and stared at the pair in shock as it hit him who these two men were. _Italy and Romano._ He had last seen them broken and battered, bandages around their heads sitting grim-faced around the table at Potsdam. Seeing them like this suddenly made Raivis feel so old and left behind.

“Latvia.”

“Yes, sir!” Raivis swiveled on his heel to see Ivan opening the trunk of the car.

“Take my suitcase.”

“Yes, sir.”

Raivis heaved the giant suitcase out of the trunk, pulling it behind him along with a briefcase slung around his neck, and his own much smaller suitcase which rattled due to a broken wheel.

“Follow me. _Don’t_ get distracted.”

“Yes, sir!”

And then Russia was off, and Raivis almost had to run to keep up with the nation’s impossibly long strides, suitcases bumping and clattering behind him.

The golden rotating doors to the hotel swung open, and Raivis found himself lost in a maze of chatting nations and dignitaries of all cultures and languages. The floor was a swirling rose marble, and crystal chandeliers threw golden lights across the room.

He blinked, reminding himself to find Russia’s hulking figure in the crowd, and raced after. Weaving past men and women in suits and pencil skirts, Raivis picked up snippets of conversations:

“Oh god, _he’s_ here now.”

“Is that a little kid following him?”

“So they’ve resorted to child slavery? Why am I not surprised.”

Raivis was too distracted to register if that had been German or Swedish or English, or some combination of all three. He spotted Russia’s head over a stream of people exiting the elevator, and managed to catch up just as Russia stepped inside. He grunted as he dragged the two suitcases over the metal door – what did Russia _have_ in this suitcase anyway? – and the doors slid shut for a moment of brief silence.

Raivis leaned his weight on the suitcase handle, trying to suppress his heavy breathing. He straitened at the crackled music playing through the speaker.

“That’s Louis Armstrong.”

“What?”

Raivis pointed to the ceiling of the elevator. “That music. It’s Louis Armstrong.”

“I knew that,” Russia said, but Raivis had a feeling he didn’t.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Raivis followed Russia through the hallways, the suitcases now quiet on the thick carpeted floor. Russia stopped at his designated room and took two keys from his pocket. 

“My room is here, yours is four doors down.”

Raivis felt relief; he had been afraid he and Russia would share a room. Sitting next to his master in the confines of the airplane had been stressful enough. But something else seemed odd.

“Why aren’t our rooms next to each other?”

“Here is your key,” Russia said, ignoring the question. _“Don’t_ lose it and keep it with you at all times. Also I want you to practice picking the lock on your hotel door.”

Raivis took a breath to ask why, but Russia continued,

“Dinner is being served downstairs in an hour. Clean up and be at the elevator in 45 minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Russia took his suitcase from Raivis, unlocked his door, and left Raivis alone in the hallway.

Raivis had the strange feeling that Russia was leaving him to sink or swim. There were no agents or dignitaries to make sure he arrived on time, or that he didn’t sneak around the hotel building, or even leave to wander the streets of London, as much as his heart was begging him to. This was a test, and Raivis was _not_ going to screw it up. 

The loose wheel on his suitcase squeaked as Raivis walked down the hall, muttering the room numbers under his breath.

_My own hotel room._

It was something Raivis hadn’t had access to since independence.

As he fumbled with the key, he heard voices echo from down the hall:

“But brother, he was just saying hello!”

“He’s flirtatious and dangerous and I do _not_ want you speaking to him, do you understand!?”

“You always act like this at World Meetings!”

_German._

Raivis instantly thought of Germany, and he was filled with an urgency to see Prussia’s little brother in-person and tell him that Gilbert was okay.

_Ah shit… I can’t… I’m not allowed to talk to anyone._

But as the argument grew louder and clearer, Raivis realized the two voices weren’t deep enough to be Germany. He looked up to see two blond-headed people turn the corner. One was a shorter man in a green uniform, followed by a teenage girl with the same shoulder-length haircut.

“Because world meetings are full of dangerous people who want to take advantage of you!” the man in uniform hissed.

“By asking me if I want to try scones at a cafe later?” the young girl asked skeptically, hands on her hips.

Raivis dropped the key.

He turned to the door, eyes wide and the hammering of his heart putting his earlier nervousness to shame. He thought he was going to faint.

“Oh, hello!”

Raivis jolted upright. _Shit!_

“Are you here for the meeting, too?” The girl had switched to a lovely, accented English.

_Don’t talk to them, don’t talk to them!_

Raivis bent down, grabbed the key, opened his hotel room door and slammed it shut, pressing his back to it and sliding down to the floor.

He sat there a moment in the darkness, panting.

“I… I didn’t realize _she_ would be here!” he whispered to himself in Latvian.

_Spies are everywhere; don’t ever assume your room isn’t bugged._

_They will see you as a direct line of leverage and national secrets to use against me, Lithuania, Estonia, and every single one of your hardworking citizens_.

_Kids mean leverage. If you can find his family, you can get him to do almost anything._

Raivis buried his head in his hands. He had a job to do. He couldn’t afford his huge crush on Liechtenstein to ruin his one chance at actually having responsibilities.

And he couldn’t talk about it – not to himself, not in this hotel room, not even in Latvian - for his safety, and hers.

Raivis let out a groan and raked his hands through the curls in his hair.

This job really was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading my stories! Writing short stories is a lot of fun and a lot less pressure than the long ones hahaha ;) If you liked them, or if you like my style of writing, leave a comment so I know what to keep doing! I might post more stories here in the future, but for now this one is complete.


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